Jack of All Trades, Master of None
by binnibeans
Summary: As punishment, America is being made to weed England's garden, but there just might be another reasons…


**A/N:** For **usxuk**'s Summer Camp event!

Day 09: Gardening

_Flowers and plants, gardening and greenhouses. Anything to do with a green thumb goes here; whether it's growing a garden, giving someone flowers, surveying wild plants, or anything of the sort._

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><p>America sighed, looking up at the sky. It wasn't too cloudy or grey over the British Isles, and just enough sun peeked down straight into England's backyard. It wasn't hot for America, nor chilly; it was just right. It was nice and cool. An old Metallica t-shirt, old, ripped, and now grass-stained jeans; tennis shoes, and … gardening gloves. Old thinned clothing did, apparently, make quite the difference in temperature. He wriggled his nose a moment, then peeked around the yard.<p>

England had a huge backyard. At least at this home did, as it was away from many of the larger cities. It was away from much of the public, period, and the yard led back to a forest. There was plenty of grass ("For football, of course."), and where there was a small abundance of trees, or plants. England had put in little paths to follow, lined by small flowers. He had flower gardens, and he had a personal vegetable garden. It was a lot of landscaping (not including some of the really very odd contraptions America found here-and-there); a lot of work, and America had to hand it to him. England probably did all of the work and care himself. Where he managed to find the time America would never know. America wouldn't have the time, himself, and he made sure to have free time. (Granted, that free time was taken in the form of video games and sports, usually, or watching the TV if something decent was on the Science Channel.)

"You're not working hard enough if you're not sweating."

Sometimes, though, England would say things that made America stop paying silent homage to the man's dedication. A lot of the time it wasn't even _what_ he said over _how _he said it. It was the latter most of the time, and it was the latter at that moment. England had a certain lift in his voice, bordering on sarcasm, that America couldn't say he entirely appreciated. Rather than get right back to weeding, because that was his punishment, he assumed a rather lazy, lackadaisical position and shot England a flat stare.

"You just think I'm lazy."

England was busy sitting on one of his garden benches, doing … nothing. He sat rather demurely on the bench, one leg crossed over the other while his book was held with a careful delicacy. His eyes, focused on the book, looked closed from America's angle. When the sun caught England's hair it reflected a rather nice, neutral tone, and America found himself blushing when, out of the blue, England decided to flick his eyes up from the pages of his book. They were a very pure shade of green in the light, and America might have even gone so far as to say that the look was a fierce one.

"I know perfectly well how much work you do. Unfortunately," England said, standing. He put a bookmark in between his pages and stood up, walking over to America with the book in his hand. He bent down at the waist a bit, touching a corner of the book's binding to the side of America's forehead, near the hairline. He had _that look_ in his eyes and _that curve _in his smirk, and America knew full well that if he played his cards right, things were going to be awesome that evening. "That's not what I meant," England finally continued. "I haven't seen you properly sweat from domestic labor in over 30 years," he said. "I've decided it's high time I've seen it again."

America scoffed. "Work up a sweat? It's barely 80 degrees out!"

"Eight—" England scowled. "I will have you know that's plenty warm here!"

"Weaklings."

England tapped down on America's head with the book. "It's cool for _you_," England said. "But for us it's rather warm."

America looked into England's eyes, and grinned. "That's only cuz you're lookin' at _me_!"

A rather thick eyebrow quirked up in question, but England returned America's grin with a shake of his head. "Is that why the US gets so warm? Because its Personification is busy basking before me?"

Another grin tugged at the corner of America's mouth as he grabbed England's neck tie, and pulled him down. "I perform domestic labor for you all the time," he noted. He went to kiss England, but England moved his face just in time so that America got his jawline instead.

That was okay with America, and he just kept kiss along there, tugging England down the whole time.

"America—America!" England was trying hard to sound put off, but the laughter he emitted was enough to override that. Finally England gave him, going to fall and sit on America's lap, his legs wrapped around him. "If you get grass stairs or dirt on my clothing, I will make you eat spotted dick."

America nuzzled into England's neck, muttering against his skin, "(Prude.) I think I'll be a little too busy with a different kind, if you know what I mean."

"Oh? Are you preparing dinner?"

"That's what I'm doing right now."

"I thought you were weeding my flower garden. You _did _break my porcelain unicorn, after all."

America halted, removing his mouth from England's neck. "You have just killed the mood. Congratulations!" He tried to scoot over to pout and cross his arms, but England wrapped his legs around him tighter. Tight enough for indirect contact to be made and at this point, any contact was good contact.

"The only thing I'm asking for is that you work up an honest sweat. I want to see you dripping; is that so bad?" England murmured into America's ear. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he gulped. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was definitely unfair!

"Now," he began again. "I am going inside to prepare myself some tea, but you had better be working by the time I get out."

England released himself from the hold, and walked around America far too easily.

America shook his head, returning to the weeds. Stupid porcelain unicorn. Cockblockers, all of them. Almost ready to return to the weeding, America heard England should out, "I'll also be needing a mechanic soon."

It made America smile as he went back to weeding. Cars he could do. So, not only did he have something he could do to look forward to, but he also had a little something extra waiting for him after that. He paused, staring at the garden weeds.

Well, the sooner he got to that, the sooner he got England.

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><p>END<p>

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><p>Images of mechanic America are my favorite. |Db<p> 


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